Set the Canals on Fire
by OnWithTheButter
Summary: "Third day of being stranded in Italy." Having lost his cellphone and most of his money, Iceland got lost and his pride prevents him of resorting to drastic measures to get home. In his wanderings, he meets someone he probably would have never met before. Iceland/fem!Italy
1. Chapter 1

_Third day of being stranded in Italy. I really have no idea why I'm keeping a journal. Maybe something about writing comforts me. Maybe I'll want to look back at this experience out of the hundreds of my years when my memory vanishes. Maybe I just want something to identify me by when I eventually pass out from starvation._

_Since that last scenario is 1) extremely, __extremely__ unlikely and 2) a big enough disaster to reveal a secret, I'll identify myself. I am the Republic of Iceland, a humanoid representation of a nation. Colloquially, I go by Egil (pronounced AY-yil). Okay, this establishing of my identity is depressing._

_This is what happened: I was in Rome on official business, and I kind of lost my phone. After the meeting, I might have gotten distracted by a discussion of volcanoes with Italy Romano and missed my flight home. Either way, I don't have money for another flight on my person and no way or contacting anyone I know either. I realize it's sad I haven't memorized any phone numbers. My brother is probably in hysterics since I've been missing. It's okay though, I'm not dying any time soon. He's probably got the rest of northern Europe in a tizzy over me too. Give it a few days and the government will be looking for me too._

_Anyway, I hated Rome. I hate big cities in general. It's summer and far too hot in Italy for me, so I decided to go north. I've heard before that Venice is a smaller city, not as small as Reykjavík, but still. Why go to a city? For one, I'll at least know where I am. I'm writing this on a train I've been on for over five hours now, and I guess we must be getting close. And yes, it is a requirement that I ride a train at every possible opportunity._

_Hey, it's __Venezia__. Maybe, just maybe, I'll meet up with Italy __Veneziano__, if he just so happens to be here. I think I know him well enough to ask a favor of him._

_P.S. How does one end a journal entry?_

* * *

The young platinum blond slammed shut the small journal, holding it close to his person, and crossed one leg over the other, pulling his thin body closer to the wall again. He looked out the window, then cautiously at the woman beside him. She had once tried to talk to him on this journey, but he was too shy to answer. She smiled at him cordially, a gesture that made him reach for the iPod he usually kept in his jacket pocket…only to find it wasn't there. Great, another thing suddenly gone missing, like his cellphone, like most of his money. Slumping back in the chair, he stared at the ceiling, awaiting the eventual re-attempt at conversation.

A few minutes later, she spoke to him again, using a heavily accented form of English. "Are you a tourist?"

Yeah, tourist. He could be one of those for now. "Yes, I am," was his simple answer, his accent every bit as thick, though completely different from hers.

"I've never heard your accent. Where are you from?"

"Iceland."

"Ah… You're very…pretty, you know?"

He blushed at the stranger's comment, trying to disappear into the window beside him. He knew Italians were generally very affectionate and talkative, but he didn't have to be comfortable with it.

"Your eyes are beautiful," the Italian woman — she was probably in her late twenties — added. "I've never seen your eye color before."

"You think?"

"Si, quite stunning. What color do you call them?" She reached out to touch him, then retracted her hand suddenly.

"Um…I don't know? I guess they're kind of violet, but they're also sort of pink."

"And your hair, it is very pretty too. It looks so soft. Is the color natural?"

His hand involuntarily went to adjusting the locks on his forehead. "It's just a genetic mutation or something that robs one of their melanin. That's the answer for both my hair and eyes, and my pale skin. Though my family is all pale, blond and blue-eyed too."

"I see. Excuse me for being so rude, my name is Bianca." She extended a hand to shake.

"Egil," he replied, returning the handshake.

"Going to Venice, yes?"

"Yes."

"What is it that drew you to Venice?"

"I was in Rome, but it was too big for me. I'm not a big city person."

"Ah, you're quite young, si? Most young people are a wandering type of tourist. I find wandering to be far more enjoyable than traveling with a plan. When you wander, you find all of the unsung beauties of a place. You don't have a plan once you get to Venice, right?"

"Right, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Bene! My neighbor is a gondolier, she'd be delighted to help such a pretty, young blond around her city. If you're extra sweet, I might get her to do it for free," she added with a wink.

* * *

_Okay, still on the train. Italians are strange people and after all these decades, I will never be used to it. I really want to go home. I tried to tell myself I'm okay alone, but I don't want to be alone. I think I'm homesick._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So…I kinda forgot an author's note on the first chapter. Le fannames of mine~ Iceland - Egil Ingólfsson (if you guys read my stories, you should know this by now XD) fem!Italy - Margherita 'Daisy' Vargas  
**

* * *

Iceland followed a few steps behind this 'Bianca' after the train reached its destination. She was insistent that he come and meet this neighbor of hers who would show him around. He really didn't want to be shown around. He wanted to be self-dependent, find his own way, but he couldn't just say no to her.

This woman certainly knew her way around, ducking through back streets to avoid traffic and such. He considered turning off himself and losing her, what stopped him was that she had gone out of her way for him. The least he could do was let her try to help him.

As she chatted on and on, he preferred to quietly listen, only answering the necessary questions. She only took a break to call this neighbor ahead to be sure she wasn't tied up for the day; she wasn't.

They soon arrived at their destination. It wasn't a large home, but it was stately in a way, everything neatly manicured and tidy, exuding an air of respectability. Though he hadn't been entirely paying attention, he caught Bianca's "Margherita is really a lovely girl," before she walked up to the door. The door opened to reveal a woman younger than he had expected, no older than her early twenties, if that. Her curly, light brown hair was half pulled back into a messy ponytail, the dress she wore not seeming to fit her smiling face dotted with mischievous amber eyes. From a first glance, and from his hundreds of years of dealing with hundreds of thousands of people, she looked to be the type tromping around in shorts, boots and novelty T-shirts. At least the ponytail fit. She walked right out, extending her hand to him.

"I'm Margherita, you must be the visitor!"

"Egil," was his simple response, shaking her hand.

Bianca excused herself to make dinner before her husband returned home, leaving the two alone. Still with that glinting grin, the young Italian tilted her head, visually examining this foreigner. For some reason, he felt vaguely familiar, though she knew she didn't know him at all. There was just that…something. "So where do you come from?"

He would only give short answers to a stranger like her. "Iceland."

Her reaction was to squint her eyes and shift her head's tilt to the other side, puckering her lips in quizzical way. Was she reading too much into this chance encounter? The appearance seemed close enough, but what were the chance of a coincidence like this? "I see." Her cheery smile returned. "What brings you all the way here?"

She caught him. He didn't want to lie, but he knew the story he used with the last woman wouldn't work. "…Wandering, you could say." Then a thought popped into his head that he had overheard once. "Say… I heard that the city is sinking. I'm interested in geology and I know you have volcanoes and fault lines in the southern part of the country. Is it sinking because of geological changes or something else?"

Her expression dropped slightly and momentarily, though her smile returned quickly, but not as bright. "It was because they were pumping too much water from the aquifer. The problem's been resolved and they think the city has stopped sinking, but parts of it have already been ruined…"

"Ah…" He noted her emotional reaction. "I'm sorry. The city must be dear to you."

"Si, I was born here and always lived here. I have a special connection here." She grinned again, taking a keychain from her skirt's pocket and twirling it around a finger. "So what do you want to do?"

_"Borrow your computer to email my brother and tell him to help me,"_ was his first thought. But then he thought better of it. Why not stay a while and take advantage of the opportunity and go see some things? "I don't know. I know next to nothing about this place."

She stifled a laugh. "Okay then." She turned to lock the door. "We'll go eat first."

He frowned a little, shoving his hands in pockets, ready to follow her. "Well…"

"Come on, I'm paying!" Using a very motherly tone of voice and a hand on her hip, she poked him between the ribs. "You're too skinny! As in…deathly skinny. Don't tell me you're anorexic, as well as shy and lost."

"I'm not lost."

"Oh yeah? Then tell me where you are."

"Uh… Venice."

"Actually, this isn't Venice. Very close, but not quite." He silently at her without a counter-argument. With a wink and a giggle, she added, "Yes, I can read you very well, cute little lost puppy dog. Come along, swallow your pride and we'll find something to eat now. By the way, you can call me Daisy if you want. That's the translation of my name."

* * *

_This woman is quite strange, and it's not just the whole culture clash Italian weirdness thing. There's something about her that I can't put my finger on. Either way, it seems I'm stuck with her. There's no ball and chain, but ditching someone like her after all the effort she's put into making me feel welcome just isn't right. She seemed happy enough to drag a total stranger around town, but I don't know. I drag total strangers around town all of the time, but that's called tourism. It's something I like to do because I live in such an amazing place. It's nothing to do with the total strangers and that's what's weird here. She's paying so much attention to me, instead of the city, and for free. I don't get it at all._

_Besides that, I think I'll try to find a computer to email Norway, after I spend some time here. It's not every day one gets a free vacation and absolutely no way for anyone to disturb me. Sure, it's a little frightening that something horrible could happen while I'm gone, but there's nothing I can do. I want to go home, but I'd also like to delay the overbearing welcome I know I'll get with everyone worried about me. Sometimes it really sucks being the baby of a group or family or whatever we are. Actually, all the time it sucks, but that's beside the point. Don't do anything rash for me, guys, I promise I'm okay. I'm just stranded, broke and homesick already. I wonder how long is a decent vacation? Something I won't regret not taking the opportunity for._

_This seriously sucks. Puffin, I really hope you haven't destroyed the place and I miss your annoying, uncensored, opinionated self. Honest. All this makes me wonder why if us personifications are so important as we're made out to be, why aren't we microchipped like dogs? Random thought._

_P.S. I still don't know how I'm supposed to end this._

* * *

**A/N: So yeah…this is kinda my OTP. It stems from my rping days (and so does most of my portrayal of nyo!Italy pfffhaha), so now anyone who knew me on tumblr before I quit rping will know who I am since this is such a rarepair (hint: I was Iceland). Yey.**

**The amount of time I spent on google maps for this story is amazing .-.  
**

**If you like, review please~ I accept critiques and suggestions too~  
**

**~Butter~  
**


	3. Chapter 3

"So…" The Italian woman had closely watched as her blond guest wrote in a journal, then silently sipped on his coffee when it arrived at the table of the small cafe. "You usually this quiet?"

"Mhm…"

"You really this shy?"

"I'm not shy…"

"So you're saying you're just very reserved?"

"It's a cultural thing."

"Oh really?"

"We're from the 'Land of Fire and _Ice_', the people take on those characteristics as well."

"What about the 'fire' part?"

"We're very passionate."

"'Passionate'?" she added a wink and smirk.

He raised an eyebrow disapprovingly, catching her implication, but wordlessly throwing down. "Yes, about the things we hold in high esteem. Our land, our history, our culture…"

"Isn't that just nationalism?" As a nation herself, she fully understood the passion he spoke of.

"We've been described as extreme with our nationalism… Also, we have individual passions as well, but I guess that differs from person to person. People don't always realize our passion because of our reticence. That's just the way we are."

"You've got individual passions too, right?"

For several seconds, she only got a blank stare, before a mumbled reply as he averted his eyes away. "I don't talk about myself…"

"Why not? Cultural thing?"

"I'm just not comfortable with it."

"Aw, come one, there's nothing wrong with it!" She smiled warmly. "How about I just ask questions and you answer?"

"Okay…"

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen, how old are you?"

She cracked another grin. "Oho, turning the questions on me now, are you?"

"It's only fair that you tell me about yourself if you insist it from me."

"Fair enough, twenty-one. What kind of career do you want to pursue?"

The question froze him. He was a nation, nations don't have careers… Sure, they take on human jobs to blend in and occupy their time, but careers? No. "Uh… I'm rather intrigued with my homeland…so, with our volcanoes that formed the island, I'd say some form of geology."

"What about your family? Tell me about your family."

"It's okay, I suppose. We haven't always gotten along the best, but we're fine now."

"Brothers? Sisters?"

"Got both."

"What brought you to Italy in the first place?"

He had to stop to think again, of a vague yet truthful answer. "…Well…I came with my brother for business things, and I have a friend, acquaintance, whatever in Rome, so I stayed behind…"

"Obviously, Venice is not Rome."

"Yes… I didn't like Rome, so I left."

"Why does it seem that you're trying to avoid going home?" she smirked.

He huffed, embarrassed that he let her talk him into this corner. "…Okay, you win." He wasn't entirely avoiding home, but saying no would force him to admit his stranded circumstances.

"Don't worry, I won't ask why."

He nodded silently, as two plates of tiramisu were placed at their table, thankful for the distraction from conversation. The waitress waved politely to him, before picking up a conversation with the brunette who had brought him here. He didn't even try to understand the rapid Italian, instead watching their gestures. Both giggled and laughed like old friends, Margherita disagreeing with whatever the other girl first suggested, then continuing their cheery discussion. The waitress kept turning her eyes back to the foreign boy, who made no attempt to hide his watching her. After a few minutes, the young woman reached out to exchange a hug and kisses with Margherita, who Egil has since decided had o have at least known her very well if they weren't genuine friends, and turned to resume her work, when Margherita stopped her again, returning to English.

"Egil, this is Celeste. Celeste, Egil, from Iceland."

She reached across the table to shake his hand quickly, before excusing herself to return to work.

Egil immediately focused his attention on the treat in front of him, purposefully cutting off her opportunity to resume a chat. Tapping the fork ever so slightly as he chewed, his mind wandered back to the circumstances and this girl. She didn't have to do this for him. She didn't have to feed him. She didn't have to be so interested. So why? Her personality would have been a decent answer, but he rejected it. Did he really come across as that pitiful? Maybe he was obviously lost, maybe she knew more than she let on. What made him so interesting? He could tell she was genuine, not feigning interest in the idea of being polite.

He felt a familiarly sick twist in his stomach, the one that screamed 'why did you eat that on an empty stomach?' He pushed the plate away, placing the fork back down on it and crossing his arms.

"You don't like it?" came the inevitable question from across the table.

"No, it's good. It's just…too rich. As a major sweet tooth, I have the experience to know when to stop."

"But you've only eaten…four bites!"

The corners of his mouth twitched upward momentarily, not a smile, but a sudden flash of amusement. "Also…I haven't eaten anything since the day before yesterday."

"Ah, so you are likely anorexic." She grinned, making her statement into a jest if need be.

Remaining completely straight-faced, he responded jokingly, though every word was truthful. "Sure, but maybe in the anorexia kind of way, not the anorexia nervosa one. The difference being that I don't have a psychological eating disorder, I simply have a loss of appetite. It happens quite frequently in poor children who starved a significant part of their life, and the habit is hard to break." His straightforwardness made it hard to tell if he was speaking about his own experience or not.

"So…were you that child?"

He moved his gaze to the tabletop. "Maybe…and maybe not."

"So would you like something else to eat? Something more plain?"

"I…I don't know. I am grateful, but…I already owe you, you know?"

"Don't be silly, I'm doing this because I want to. Besides, we're strangers, once you go home, you'll probably never meet me again and any debts would be null."

"That doesn't help my conscience."

She pouted at him for a short while, then broke into another of her mischievous grins. "Oh…! I get it! You're broke, aren't you?"

He reached into a pocket and pulled out just a few notes and coins, dropping them on the table. "That's all I have."

She leant over to count it. Not even enough for a night in one of the cheapest hotels. What was he thinking? "When's your plane home?" Her brow furrowed slightly.

"I…don't have one." The two stared at each other momentarily, until he quickly spat out an excuse. "My brother will get me one."

"Really?" This was the most serious she had been during this time with him. "You know this won't even get you a hotel, right?" She didn't leave him enough time to respond before firing a suggestion at him. "You can stay with me tonight, okay? I have a guest room. This afternoon and this evening, we can see the city if you want to, then I want you to get ahold of that brother. What were you thinking?"

He flushed and fidgeted in embarrassment, mumbling out his explanation at rapid speed. "I really didn't mean to stay behind, I got distracted and missed my flight . Somewhere in the course of it all, I lost my phone and most of my money, so now I'm stuck here. I figured I might as well take a free vacation."

She held back a chuckle. "You poor dear… Well, how about this? To clear your conscience, you can do the same for me. Once you're home and settled down, I want to visit your country. I'll give you my contact information… You love your nation, right? Wouldn't it be great to show someone around?"

His nervous, flickering smile gave away his acceptance of the idea, face still red and unable to look at her. "Okay…"

* * *

_She's not really a bad person. She's actually very sweet. But I still don't want to be with her. Eh…she's insisted I go home, so I will. I don't know why. I don't know anything._

_I can't believe I let myself get into this situation. I really just wish I could erase it all. Who knows what's waiting me at home._

_Note to self: glue the retarded phone to you. That way it's harder to lose it. I never thought I'd actually __want__ to be constantly available for contact._

* * *

The day wore on without much more trouble. Margherita enjoyed getting about on her personal sandolo, which she didn't use as much, as she worked on gondolas most days. Egil felt far more comfortable with the topics turned mostly to the city. She stopped him several times to eat, her mothering nature fully at work, figuring she'd get more food in him if she offered him less food more often.

They were walking back to her home, with the sun sinking into the horizon in front of them. Egil had a small bowl of gelato, sucking on the spoon more than actually eating. "Thank you…"

"It's been my pleasure, Egil."

He didn't respond for a few minutes, lost in his own thoughts. "…Why did you do this?"

"I don't know what you mean…" she chuckled.

"You didn't know a thing about me when you agreed to show me around at first. Why did you do it?"

"Ah…" She smiled apologetically. "Bianca said you're cute, and she knows I like doing things like this for boys on my days off, just to…look at them, honestly. I never do anything inappropriate, it's a look-and-don't-touch sort of thing." He simply rolled his eyes, and she saw him do it. "You're very exotic and quite cute, but that's not really why I did everything."

Raising an eyebrow, he deadpanned, "Oh really?" and braced himself for cheesy flirting.

"Right, I _agreed_ to it for that reason, but when I met you, I felt like I should know you. Not in the 'hey cutie, I see you in my future' way, but…like I knew you, but I couldn't place you are. Déjà vu, almost. I wanted to see if there's a reason you seem familiar, and I still haven't ruled out the possibility that I know who you really are."

He nodded slightly, but disagreed. "There's no way you could know me."

* * *

**A/N: I just wanted it to be clear that in this story, the Nyotalia character exist along side the others. They're siblings to their counterparts, but the Nyotalia ones aren't as involved in international dealings, so they don't necessarily know all the other nations. Yeah.  
**

**~Butter~**


	4. Chapter 4

"Well," Margherita swung the key ring around her finger, before tossing it in the air and catching it by a key, then unlocked the front door. "Make yourself at home. The kitchen is straight ahead and to the left, guest room and bathroom are down the hall on the right, second door on the right. Ask me if you need anything else."

"Okay." Egil slowly, almost cautiously walked in, like one entering foreign and possibly dangerous lands. It wasn't that he was nervous, he was just taking extra care to observe every detail. Her proclamation of her possibly knowing his true identity had startled him. If she really did know he was more than just 'Egil' in his double existence as both a human and a nation, then she must have been more than she let on herself, a high-up government agent perhaps, and in that case, he wouldn't mind admitting himself. And then there was still the very possible chance that they were both mistaken.

There was art on all of the walls, some copies of famous pieces, some seemed to be amateur, mixes of different styles and times, paintings, photography, woodcuts; all signs of a very involved and educated collector. He walked slowly, studying every one as if he was conducting some sort of investigation and these were all clues. The woman herself had excused herself and disappeared almost the instant they arrived, so he was left alone in his examination. Children on a beach, landscapes all varieties, old snapshots of small towns, the people bustling unaware of the eyes on them. She didn't seem to have a specific preference in what she had, all organized, but in a system he didn't quite understand. He came to a mantle, which seemed to hold the most precious pieces. Her family perhaps, as Margherita herself featured in quite a few portraits. After a quick scan, he went back after realizing something. These were familiar to him. The first photo his eyes laid a second glance on told him everything. The center picture held five people in it, three young men and two young women. He knew two of those young men…and they weren't really that young. Lovino and Feliciano Vargas, aka Italy Romano and Veneziano. He didn't know how long he stared, the realization of the coincidence had blown him away.

"Oh, those are my family."

Margherita's voice snapped him back, and as his back was turned to her, he used the opportunity to wipe his face of any shock before turning around again. "Three brothers and a sister?" he asked. The unverbalized question in his mind was "_Are _you_ Italy Veneziano?_" but he wasn't ready to believe that he hadn't fallen on the way in, hit his head and all of this was really just a concussion-induced hallucination.

"Si," and she pointed out the individuals as she named them, "Lovino, myself, Lorenzo, Chiara, and Feliciano. Lovino and Chiara are older than me."

He had turned back to the pictures as she spoke, and didn't look back to reply. "No parents?"

"I'm afraid not…"

"I'm sorry." For whatever reason, maybe just out of pure shock from not seeing this turn of events coming, he lost the willingness to reveal his identity that he had held just minutes before. No, this would stay strictly human to human, at least for now. There was always another time, especially since they had previously agreed that this wouldn't be the last time they met.

He turned back to her, and they both stopped to re-examine the other's face. He knew she was looking for signs that he recognized her, and so he purposefully kept his faked straight and oblivious expression, turning the situation into a sort of game. He knew he wasn't as good as, say, his brother at keeping a straight face no matter what (but he didn't know anyone else that good either), so how well she could read him would be the deciding factor of this whimsical game.

In the meantime, he was wondering to himself why he hadn't picked up on the similarities. She obviously had, and he didn't even look as similar to his counterpart. She even had the same strange curl in her hair, though it blended in better than Feliciano's with her wavy locks.

He wheeled around to do a quick scan of the rest of the room that he hadn't got to before coming across her family, playing as a still-stranger completely cool. "Um… Can I…I can still borrow a computer or something to talk to my brother, right?"

She gave a lop-sided smile. "Right, of course. I'll be right back!" and just that quickly, she disappeared again.

He had barely sat down before she returned with a laptop and handed it off to him, taking a seat across the coffee table.

"It's kind of sad to see you go so soon…"

He looked up for a moment, then responded while busying himself with the computer. "It won't be good-bye forever."

"True, true." She didn't speak again, letting him have his peace.

His inbox was just as he imagined, full of concern. He looked through the list of unread emails, discounting the usual spam and anything that wasn't a personal message. In only three days, twenty-two from Norway, eighteen from Denmark, eleven from Finland, six from his sister, the other Iceland…and single ones from most of his friends, even some from people he'd consider only acquaintances. Yes, they were worried about him. It could almost make sense to him too, there were simply so few of their kind in the world that they all mostly knew at least about each other, and a nation suddenly gone missing was kind of a big deal. Why so many would try to contact him, though, wasn't understandable. If he wasn't answering even his closest family, why or how would he have responded to anyone else? Maybe it was just that human side in all of them, wanting to reach out, to show that they cared.

He clicked on the most recent one from Norway. "_Island. Jeg ber deg._" was all it read, sent only a little more than an hour ago.

He couldn't help but smile just a tiny bit, even though he saw it coming. His brother was desperate to get an answer, of any kind. He typed out a reply. "_Hey, I'm sorry about this. I've gotten myself lost and I lost my phone and stuff. This is the first I've been able to get online. Look, I'm almost out of money and I need a flight home from Venice. Don't ask anything, just get me something. Thanks._"

Now to wait and see how long it would take for him to catch on. Egil figured he might as well read through the other messages and let everyone else know he was okay. He figured he'd start from the beginning of his brother's.

"_Egill, what's going on? I called and you didn't answer._"

"_I called again, then I called your house. The bird said you hadn't got home yet (kudos to you for teaching the rascal to answer the phone…maybe). Did you just have a late flight? Tell me you just had a late flight._"

"_Egill, I'm starting to worry._"

"_Are you just not talking to me? What did I do wrong?_"

"_I'm sorry, baby brother._"

"_I know you're not dead. Are you just very sick? I'll come over if you are._"

"_Answer me, Island._"

"_You're going to make me cry. You don't want your dearest brother to cry, do you?_"

"_… You're asking for me to get everyone else involved._"

"_I told Mats that you're missing. I'm sorry, but this is worrying me._"

"_Is, what's wrong? Tell me what's going on!_"

The remainder of Norway's messages followed the same progression. After finishing off those, he moved onto Denmark's, which were basically the same, but with more capital letters and such. He quickly scanned through the remainder of the messages, then wrote up a quick reply to all who had sent him.

"_Hey guys, I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm perfectly fine. I just lost my phone and…took an unplanned vacation, you could say. I'll be home soon. Thanks for being concerned, I guess. It's nice to know I'm not forgotten.  
Egil/Iceland_"

After clicking send, he crossed his arms, waiting for the first responses to roll in. Looking up at the kind woman…nation that had helped him out, he offered another word of thanks. "You have no idea how much I appreciate everything you've done for me today…"

She smiled widely, and he imagined that if he were in arms' length, she'd have reached to pat his head like a dog. "No, no, I'm very happy to have helped you out. Are things working out for your going home?"

"I'm waiting on him to answer me."

"Ah, okay."

"It's not like he's going to say 'no'…"

"I'm sure."

He looked down to the screen as something caught his eye. A reply from Denmark.

"_IS! Norge's been so sick worrying over you!_"

"_Can you call him or something, tell him I don't have a lot of time and I need him to get on his email._"

Within minutes, he got a new and brief message from his brother.

"_Ah… It's very good to hear from you. I'll get you something fast._"

"_Takk._"

"_What did you actually do to get yourself in Venice anyway? I'd love to hear the story._"

"_Well, I'm not telling you. Maybe I'll tell when I get home._"

* * *

Twelve minutes till noon, the next day. Egil's un-named (to Margherita at least, he had never called him by a name) brother had worked wonders to get a flight this early, takeoff was at 12:08. The only caveat, the flight was to Oslo. Of course, Egil didn't expect anything different. After being missing, it was only natural that he would want to see him directly, that he wouldn't send him home. Good thing that he actually liked his brother's country.

Margherita had learned a few new things about this young man during the time they had together. For one, he simply did not go to bed early, and even as someone who was used to going to sleep around one or two in the morning, she knew she had been asleep long before him. And then, it was hard to get him awake in time to eat and be at the airport on time. It could just be nerves, she told herself, he was staying in a strange place after all. Once he fell asleep, whenever it was, he was out though, who knows when he actually slept in a decent place if he only had that money during the days and nights before. She felt oddly attached to him, even though their time together had been under one day.

As she handed off to him the promised paper with her number, she was hit with a sudden thought that maybe he'd never call her. He claimed to have forgotten even his own home's number, but he could have just been getting out of their deal. There were so many things she knew that she didn't know about him, so many things she could tell he was hiding, things she couldn't read.

After a glance at the clock, he decided it had to be time to go. He had been back and forth across the airport, even unnecessarily, something she had just assumed was nerves. As he bid his good-bye, a smile barely there, she reached out to him, pulling his thin body close to hers in a tight hug, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. She smiled through her fears that he'd forget her, giving a small wave after releasing him, then offering a hand for a more formal parting gesture.

He had frozen up slightly at the affection, but after a few moments, returned to his senses and took her hand in the handshake she offered, then immediately turned and hurried away.

She stared after him for several seconds, his almost white hair bouncing at his brisk pace. Did he really want to leave her that badly? Or what? Eventually, she noticed the paper he left in her still-curled hand.

"_I didn't know how to say this to you in person. I am Iceland. It was nice to meet you, the other Italia Veneziano._"

* * *

**A/N: Guys. Guys. My writing muse is back. This is the first chapter I've written in a long time that I've actually loved. It's just so cute. ;u;**

**Jeg ber deg - I beg you (Norwegian)**

**Takk - Thanks**

**Side note: Yes, Norway called him "Egill". That's actually his name. Egil is simply an Anglicization, because…you go look up how to pronounce Egill if you don't know how. My headcanon is that Iceland just goes by an easier form of his human name because he doesn't want to bother with teaching people how to pronounce it. Norway would know though, because 1) he grew up with Old Norse and 2) he's his brother for crying out loud. Yeah. Personally, I don't think Egill is hard to pronounce XDD but everyone else I know does. Whatever.**

**Lorenzo is Seborga and Chiara is fem!Romano. Js  
**

**~Butter~**


	5. Chapter 5

So she had been right in the first place! As time had worn on, she had doubted more and more her initial guess, ruling t out completely after he had stared into the photographed faces of people he had to have known and didn't react. That Egil…Iceland was cryptic, that much she knew for sure now.

She had to admit that she knew next to nothing about his country, but now suddenly interested. All throughout the rest of the day, she was trying to decipher her memories of him and his words. To be honest, she didn't even know what other country could qualify to be the brother he said he had. She knew the island was remote and couldn't begin to imagine how he could be related to anyone else. There was so much she simply was ignorant to.

* * *

"_Halló, it's Iceland. I only got home today. It's so nice to see one's own land again. How's you?_"

It was the third day since he left that she received the text message.

"_Hey! Um, I don't know how to spell the name I knew you by…so… Everything's well here, you?_"

"_It's Egil. I'm sorry I was so awkward down there. Just no good in social situations, I guess._"

"_It's no problem! I'm very glad I met you!_"

"_So did you know who I was all along or what?_"

"_It crossed my mind, but I though it was far too unreasonable. Haha shows one should trust their instincts._"

"_It certainly was odd._"

"_Off topic, who's your brother?_"

"_Really? I thought he had the whole world know by now… It's Norway._"

"_Ah, another that I know almost nothing about._"

"_Not surprising, he's a hermit. He raised me from infancy._"

"_So how old are you really? Please excuse me, I know nothing about your country._"

"_1138. I was born in 874._"

"_You remember your birth year? That's impressive._"

"_Ha…actually no. Nobody lived here permanently before then, as was proved recently, so it's easy to remember when you're the first born._"

"_Oh wow. That's actually really cool, not many of us can claim to be our land's firstborn._"

"_Not many of our lands are constantly trying to kill us either (don't pity me, I love my land despite it all)._"

"_I'm curious now, yet somehow I get the feeling I don't want to know…_"

"_Volcanoes, glaciers, a lot of infertile land, etc._"

"_Ohh… So what are you doing?_"

"_Not much…basically listening to my bird ramble about everything._"

"_You have a talking bird? A parrot?_"

"_A puffin. They're called sea parrots though, so…though it's only because of the beak._"

"_Aw, that's cute! What's it talking about?_"

"_Er, he's ranting about 'ungrateful punks'. I think whenever you come over here, I'm going to 'accidentally' lose him._"

"_Aw, that's too bad. Speaking of which, when should I plan to come?_"

"_Uh… I don't care. Whenever you want._"

* * *

She glanced back and forth and all around, looking for that white head of hair, the heels of her stiletto boots clicking as she walked. Once she broke free of the throng of exiting people, she stopped, taking in the surroundings while still looking. He was right, this was a very unique and strange land, she had noticed before the airplane ever landed.

Ah, there he was. She picked back up her quick pace. He had noticed her too, standing with his hands folded, almost tensely. She had to grin in amusement.

"Hello and welcome to Iceland," he greeted first, holding out a hand with a very small smile.

She shook his hand politely. "Buon giorno, Egil. How are you?"

"I'm fine, everything's gone back to normal again."

"Ah, good good."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began to walk, looking back to be sure she came along. "Do you have anything in mind to do?"

"No, not really. I would say we're in the same boat as before, but reversed. I know nothing of your place and am relying on you to guide the way."

"Ah…" He paused to think. "We could firstly get to Reykjavík and decide from there."

"Whatever you think is best."

Silences filled in large gaps of time, neither knowing what to discuss, as they made a short journey into the small city. The words that were spoken were formal, Egil pointing out different things in the landscape and Margherita responding accordingly. Short discussions might have come from such topics, but never lasted.

The trip by car was short, and the two decided to travel in the city on foot.

"This is the very large city of Reykjavík, with a population of just over one hundred thousand," he stated in dry irony as they looked over a map.

"So small?" she giggled.

"Well, there's only approximately three hundred twenty thousand on the island as a whole anyway."

"Ah, so just a small country in general."

"Right, and there are no other towns with a population over one hundred thousand."

She nodded slowly. "Do you have an explanation for it" It seems…odd, next to the over-one-thousand-years-old thing."

"Are you asking for my life story now?"

"Well…"

"I don't mind."

Another silence fell as they started to walk again, Margherita keeping her eyes n her taller companion. "So…it's a long story?"

"It's about as long as my life, so I suppose so. A contributing factor to the population figure is that it has always been believed that the island can only support a certain number of people. History might as well have proved that."

In a few minutes' time, they neared a small cafe and he motioned to it in a silent way of saying, 'we're stopping here'. A little bell announced them as the door opened and a middle-aged woman looked up to greet them.

"Hey Egill," she called. "And who is this?"

"Margherita, a friend from Italy," he answered cordially.

"I'm sorry, I'd come over to greet you, but…" the woman lifted her hands up, soap suds dripping off, "it's kind of impractical. I'm Lára, it's nice to meet you. So what do you think of Iceland?"

Margherita flashed a cheeky grin at Egil before answering. "I think Iceland is very unique, nice and quite beautiful."

As soon as they were seated at a table, he leaned over to her and whispered, "Did you say that about me or the country?" His eyes wore slight shock and cheeks twitched in a failing attempt to stop the blood from rushing to them.

She bit her lip as a small giggle escaped, reaching to softly pat his head. "Both? I meant it about you as a person, you as the representative of a nation, and the actual land and country." She immediately picked up a menu and started perusing it nonchalantly.

He retreated back, resting elbows on the table while hiding his face in his hands and peeking out shyly between long, thin fingers. "You Italians are so _weird_."

Looking up again, she pursed her lips and tilted her head teasingly. After a few moments, she broke into a soft smile. "Your eyes are very pretty, Egil."

As the words reached his ears, his arms dropped and his gaze fell. "…You think so?" was his eventual response.

Her face dropped as well, immediately after his reaction, brow furrowing in confusion. "I…I'm sorry…? Did I say something upsetting?"

"No! No…it's…it's nothing." He tried to smile, instead just looking pathetic.

Too late, she was already tearing up. "I'm sorry, Egil, I didn't know… I talk too much and I don't think before I speak always…"

He could only stare, brow wrinkled confoundedly on how to react, what to say or do. "…Hey…" Her eyes lifter to meet his, he forced himself to try to say something. "It's okay, it really is. I might have had a knee-jerk reaction, but it doesn't really bother me anymore. Don't feel bad about it." She softly nodded, wiping away the few tears. "Remember what I said about the land trying to kill me?"

"And not to pity you…"

He nodded, propping his elbows back up and resting his chin in his hands. "I was born with blue eyes. Natural disasters gave me a form of albinism."

"Your genes mutated during your life?"

"With the help of toxins that would kill a normal human."

She stood up and walked around to him, bending to wrap her arms around his neck and lean her head against his motherly, without a single word.

* * *

**A/N: Ehh…I decided in the middle of this chapter that I wanted to call her Margherita properly…so yeah, I edited the previous chapters too.**

**I do indeed have a headcanon that Iceland had blue eyes that changed to violet…but in the interests of not spoiling my story Brennt Barn Forðast Eldinn, I'm not going to explain it. I will be getting to that in not the next chapter of previously stated fic, but the one after the next. Though if someone were to ask me (I've told a few people about it), I will explain it, just not in public, spoiler places.**

**~Butter~**


	6. Chapter 6

"If you could describe your family in one word, what would it be?"

The two had settled down at Egil's home after a day-long and winding trip through the local area. Now it was too early for supper, but late enough that any more sightseeing would have turned the entire day into a jumbled blur of memory. Margherita's first comment had been that the house 'seemed too big for just one boy' as a little bit of a joke, and they were unwinding after a long day over cups of coffee, as Egil pondered the perfect word to describe his make-do 'family' that had formed over a millennium.

"I'm tempted to say 'immature', but it's a bit more complex."

"'Immature'?" she repeated with a giggle.

"Yeah, they're all pretty immature if you ask me. Every one of them."

"Now I'm willing to bet that the one word they would use to describe you would be 'critical'."

"You're probably correct."

"So…you consider your family to be Norway, Sweden…Denmark…?"

"And Finland. He's the only one who's not quite related."

"Do they come by to see you often?"

"No…no, I'm too remote. More often than not, we meet up somewhere over their way, or I'll visit one or another of them rather than they try to make it out here."

"Doesn't it get lonely way out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"I have enough human friends that come and go. You know, after all these years, I don't think I could stand to live near anyone else. I grew up coping with it, and that's the way it is."

"Ah," she smiled, possibly apologetically, "that's true. I guess I just have a hard time relating because we're sort of crammed in Europe. I kind of envy how peaceful it must be up here."

He held back a quiet scoff. "It's nothing to envy. It's beautiful, it's quiet, sure, but you…" He had to stop to reword himself in an unboastful way. "It's definitely not for everyone. There's more than what meets the eyes, and you know, there really is no utopia on Earth. Some places are too hot, too cold. Other places have disastrous storms, tornadoes, too wet, too dry, infertile, light all summer and dark all winter…the list goes on." Pausing again, he tapped his fingers together as if pondering some deep philosophy. "I think, and it's a personal opinion, that we all are too attached to where we're from, as nations that is, and although we can see, and have probably experienced painfully, the downsides of living in our land, we wouldn't be able to survive anywhere else. For one, I get homesick anytime I so much as spend one night away from my islands."

She nodded, taking the time to consider his words. "Yes…I was thinking earlier, I don't think I've staying overnight outside of Venice in…twenty-odd years, and outside of northern Italy in probably close to a century. I mean, everything I do is internal, I don't need to leave the country and I would be perfectly happy to never leave again."

After a short bout of silence, Egil returned to the original topic. "So your family…is…?"

"We're pretty messed up. Feliciano keeps in contact pretty often, but I haven't spoken to Lovino in years. There's a large rift between myself and Chiara, really between myself and Feliciano and those two. It's like…you take children and put them in completely separate places in life, they turn into separate adults, right? We clash, we don't agree, we don't fit well together. And every one of us is as guilty as the other, and at the same time, none of us are guilty at all. And then…there's Lorenzo…" She allowed herself a hearty chuckle. "He's a good kid, he really is. It's a wonder he doesn't have rejection issues. He's Seborga, right? So in the era of city-states, he was an independent nation and has been left out of every subsequent documentation of the reunification. If he really wanted to, he could be quite successful, but…" She left the sentence unended, shrugging.

"So he could be independent if he desired, but…?" Egil's eyes had widened and brows furrowed in confoundment.

"Oh, he has claimed independence, but you know…he doesn't really make a bother of it."

The fiercely independent young man sunk his face into his hands. "How can one… I can't… Seriously? I don't understand. I…well yes, I'm the one willing to kill over anything that resembles a challenge of my independence. I was a constant thorn in the side of every foreign ruer I ever had."

She chuckled, remembering something he had said to her. "Extreme nationalism, yes?"

It evoked a small smile from him. "For sure."

"That's really cute, Egil."

He frowned, wrinkling his nose. "What?"

"You, your feistiness. You try to come off as cool or mature, but there's nothing wrong with having that fight in you." She growled for effect, then started laughing at herself.

He bit his lip to stop himself from laughing along with her.

"Come on, it's okay to laugh" she reassured through her giggled. "Lighten up, no one will think any less of you."

Within a few moments of stubbornly withholding himself, a short series of quiet, stifled chuckled spilled from his mouth, squeaky and child-like, as his whole face grew red in embarrassment. He bent over and buried his face in a throw pillow, unable to stop once he had started, the giggles slowly transforming into an actual laugh. And Margherita just kept laughing as well, not at him but with him.

Eventually, he started to recover, and tried to speak through the laughing. "I… Don't tell anyone this happened."

She was now holding her pained stomach. "Why not?" she questioned, also unable to stop.

"It's just…" Taking a deep breath and coughing a few times, he regained composure, though his face turned straight again, his eyes were still lit up with a smile. "I'm not a child anymore."

* * *

Margherita awoke early the next morning, partially because of the time difference, but also because she had tired out and gone to bed early the night before. Unsurprisingly, Egil was still asleep. He had said that if she woke before him, to help herself to whatever she wanted, yet she felt uncomfortable doing so.

Long minutes, almost two hours really, of boredom ticked by without any signs of the young man. Maybe he was just one of those than never got up even remotely early, just as he had when he had stayed with her in Venice. With nothing better to do, she decided to take a stroll for a short while and see if he was up when she returned.

She came back over an hour and a few mis-turns later, the clock hovering near 10:30. As she opened the door to his house, her first sight was of a half-dozing Egil, sitting wrapped in a blanket on the couch, a mug of coffee precariously balanced on a knee.

"Good morning, sunshine!" she greeted with a mischievous grin.

An inarticulate "mmn" was his first reply, drowsy eyes slowly turning to her. He quickly came to his senses a little and spoke in a critical tone, averting his gaze again. "Why'd you leave without notice? You could have scared me, you know."

Though he had done his best to wrap the words in cold disinterest, she couldn't help but grin at them. "Well, if you're prone to worrying, then you should have woken your cheery self up."

He simply rolled his eyes. "Did you at least eat before you left?"

She sat down beside him, the goofy smile still there. "I think the question should be: did you eat yet?"

He wrapped himself tighter in the blanket, downing the last drips of coffee. "Uh-huh…"

"Not much of a morning person, are we?" She patted his head lightly.

He squished his face into his knees, facing away from her, and shut his eyes as if to go back to sleep. His answer was mumbled. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

She rubbed his back. "When did you go to bed?"

"I dunno, normal time."

"When is 'normal time'?"

He hesitated. "…Uh, around three or four."

She sighed and chuckled softly. "Oh, dear…"

He abruptly stood up and started walking away. "What do you want to eat?"

She got up to follow him, a little startled by his sudden movement. "Well, I'll have whatever you give me really."

He turned and gave her a look of utmost seriousness. "No, what do you _want_? I don't have everything, but take a look and then decide."

* * *

"What did he call you?"

The question was asked immediately out of earshot of a man who had greeted Egil as they walked by, and it confused Egil. "I'm sorry, what?"

"He called you…? I think I've heard it before."

And then it dawned on him. "Oh… Egill, he called me Egill. That's my name."

"So…'Egil' is just a nickname?"

He gave a half-shrug. "If you want to call it that. It's more of a grammatical thing, really."

"Why do you go by it? Don't take offense, please, I'm curious is all."

He smirked briefly. "You try to say 'Egill'."

She made a perplexed face. "Repeat, please?"

"Exactly. It's easier to go by Egil with foreigners."

* * *

"Hey…"

The moment the word slipped from his mouth, he began to fidget uncomfortably.

"Yes?"

Margherita watched him with interest, as his head twitched slightly to look at her from the corner of his eyes, then his body turned and he walked a semi-circle away from her, feet digging into the black beach sand.

"Um…"

She smiled, amused by his behavior, but said nothing.

"You're really cool, okay?"

He had hesitantly faced her, head down and watching her shyly with a little bit of a squint.

"Thanks… You're cool too."

She blushed slightly as she spoke, her smile the most gentle he had ever seen on her, in place of the usual impish one.

"We shouldn't have met each other, you know. I'm thankful we did."

He returned the smile, the bashful type that made her want to giggle and tease.

"Now, now, I'm sure something or someone wanted us to meet and made sure we did."

She had stepped in toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

He didn't have the words to reply with, immediately his face flushed even more and he could only blink rapidly, frozen in a bit of a small panic.

She tilted her head slightly, jutting her bottom lip out just slightly, teasingly.

The corners of his mouth and space between his eyebrows twitched upward momentarily. He looked away, hand coming to his mouth as he stared at a rock just for the sake of not looking at her anymore. After a moment of indecision, he quickly turned back and placed a timid peck clumsily on the corner of her mouth.

She broke out into uncontrollable giggles, in return planting her lips beside his nose on the cheek.

"Thank you, Egil."

He grinned like a sheepish young boy. A witty reply to her earlier comment came.

"And don't forget to thank Lovino for delaying me and getting me stuck in Italy in the first place."

* * *

**A/N: orz… I simply am unable to…do this… XDD /shot dead**

**No really, it was entirely too difficult for me to write this. unu**

**Thank you all for reading the story and accepting my strange OTP~**

**~Butter~**


End file.
